


There And Back Again

by ascientistfortonight



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood, Boy Scouts, Gore, Mutilation, SSR, Sheriff's Secret Police, and pain, and they're really strong too, creepy mute children, my poor baby goes through so much, oh god theres a lot of blood for the first half sorry, welcome to night vale boy scouts, wheeze my poor baby, with shark-like teeth, wtnv boy scouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 06:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1335460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascientistfortonight/pseuds/ascientistfortonight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earl Harlan has returned. In secret; the SSR don't want anyone knowing about this. They took him and cataloged his struggles, encouraging him to share what he went through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There And Back Again

> "Why are you doing this! You already know who I am!"
> 
> "Maybe, but you're the first to return since then with correct DNA and physical matches. We just need to make sure."
> 
> "--The first to--?"
> 
> "Yes, now please sit still while he inserts the needle."
> 
> The sound of clothing moving against an old chair subsides.
> 
> "Why do you doubt my word so strongly?"
> 
> A sharp, startled hiss.
> 
> "And how can I feel _that_ if nothing's _there?_ "
> 
> "Phantom pains. Can't promise that you'll ever get used to that. We doubt you because there have been others who returned. Others who came back.. _different._ They had the minds of other beings, trapped in a single physical form. We had to take care of them."
> 
> "The others-- You didn't--!"
> 
> "Unfortunately, yes."
> 
> A soft, choked sound, possibly a stifled sob, or a horrified gasp.
> 
> "My boys.. I'm so sorry..."
> 
> "Being sorry won't bring them back. Now. We need to decide your fate. Tell us what happened to you, as best you can."
> 
> "...Where.. do I start?"
> 
> "At the attack."

Screaming is what Earl remembers most clearly. And blood. Screaming and blood and pain and fear. Oh, so much fear. There was no pride in his eyes or stance or mind as those horrible mute children tore him from his duties. 

There wasn't supposed to be so many, just a few, meant to oversee the event, take a few boys, then vanish inside the tent. He hadn't prepared for so many mute children, hadn't prepared for such a vicious and sudden attack. _Him._ Earl Harlan. Scoutmaster Earl Harlan had not, for the second time in his life, prepared well enough. And he paid the price for his incompetence. 

He was torn away from his post, from the boys he was instructing, Franklin and Barton. Those poor boys. They didn't get to hear what would happen after this ceremony would be complete. What being an Eternal Scout really meant. That all the Scouts, Earl included, were so incredibly proud of those two for making that rank. He wished they could have gotten there ten minutes earlier, just so he could tell them all that. They deserved it. They deserved to be proud.

He never had the chance though. The attack had come sooner than they expected, startling everyone and giving the attacking children exactly the time needed to begin dragging them mercilessly over the scorching sand and rock to the burlap tent.

One had snatched him by the ankle, driving her nails deep into Earl's flesh and yanked hard. He fell to the ground with a yelp and started to struggle and twist this way and that and hurl whatever his fingers could grasp at the child. She was so strong, so fast, lurching down towards him, mouth agape, multiple rows of serrated teeth stretching out inhumanly of her mouth. She dove for Earl's neck with a piercing shriek, probably would have killed him right then and there if he hadn't thrown up his arm in defense.

Pain. Searing, blinding _agony_ that caused him to freeze up, to throw his head back, squeeze his eyes shut, and let out a tormented cry. She started to move her jaw, to chew, to gnaw on his bleeding arm. He could feel her grinding into bone.

Blindly, searing white sparks taking up most of his vision, he struck out, a rock in his good hand. He had no idea what part of her he hit, but those teeth retracted from him, the girl shrieking and clutching her face. Earl clutched at his shredded arm, too in pain and shock to even consider getting away.

Not that it would have mattered. Her nails returned to his leg and again she yanked hard, pulling at his skin and this time slicing it open. He felt it, but it wasn't quite the same as the first time. He was going into shock, going numb. Still he squirmed and fought back as best he could, occasionally reaching up to bash at her face with a new rock. 

Still she did not release him, shrieking and bleeding and pulling and biting. So much pain and struggle for both of them. A hard fight, one that seemed to last much longer than a few minutes.

He didn't realize until shade passed over his face what she was really doing, how close he was to losing the battle. That everything he had done was futile.

Down into the tent's darkness she dragged him. His screams, terrified and agonized, filtered with the rest of the town's screams. He remembers thinking, just before the last sliver of light went out in that infinite darkness:

                                                            _Will anyone miss me?_

> Silence. Long silence that stretches on for even longer minutes.
> 
> "Mister Harlan?"
> 
> A soft noise, most likely a startled gasp.
> 
> "Are you alright?"
> 
> "Y-yeah, I'm okay. Sorry, that's just.. not..."
> 
> "I understand. Are you able to continue?"
> 
> "Yeah. Yes. Sorry."
> 
> A chair squeaks as someone clears his throat and shifts in his seat. The armrests begin to groan softly in protest to the fingers digging anxiously into the old leather.

The hole in the vacant lot behind the Ralphs is just that. A hole in a vacant lot. A deep, dark hole in the center of a crater, certainly big enough to drag several people into at once. There had been expeditions into the hole, but only about five or six. People had quickly realized that none of the earlier explorers had returned and so it was decided that the hole was bottomless. But then again, maybe the early explorers did come back and the SSP were holding them in custody.

The truth didn't matter much nowadays. No one had considered exploring that hole for years.

So you might be able to understand just how terrified Earl was when he realized where he was being dragged to. He screamed as he fell, bleeding, in pain, disoriented. He screamed, yelled, cried out, begged, whimpered, and finally all sounds from him ceased, throat too ragged to produce any more noise.

After a while, falling felt like floating. Hunger and pain and thirst became nonexistent. His life in Night Vale felt like a vivid dream he'd had when he was a child and could still half remember as an adult. He started to doubt himself, his memories. Were they even memories? Why not dreams? A fantasy to help give color to this dark expanse? What was color?

And yet, always when he was on the verge of forgetting his own name, right when he closed his eyes and almost decided to give himself over to what was keeping him here, he'd hear a voice. A beautiful voice that changed pitch as it went on with the news. He spoke of Night Vale. Of its citizens and events with such passion, it jolted Earl back to himself. Reminded himself of his name, his origin, his passion for his job. _My name is Earl Harlan_ he'd remind himself as the voice purred _Goodnight_. And sometimes, if he wasn't focused on the voice, he could feel himself moving.

But that wasn't the only thing he heard. He heard slang and howls and hisses. He heard static and numbers and chimes. He heard the enraged screams of children (at least, he hoped they were enraged and not in pain). He'd hear little explosions, followed by excited laughter. Once in a while he'd catch a name. Josie. Cecil. John Peters --you know, the farmer. Pamela. Dana. Tamika. Names he clung to desperately, as if they could keep him sane.

He started to realize that the odd feeling of movement was real. That he ascending. Or maybe descending. It was hard to tell direction here, but he could tell he was moving.

Long after the seventh time the voice spoke out, Earl _felt_ something. Something warm and hard and in some spots, soft and grainy. Something hard and small pressing into his spine. He moved his fingers, freezing up as something shot up his arm. Pain, he quickly realized. He couldn't feel his other hand and his leg was screaming. Metaphorically. So was Earl. Literally. Earl was screaming, the sound startling and unnecessarily loud to him, but at the same time it felt so good to make noise.

Something wet and warm was seeping around his right arm and leg, pain flaring through those spots and sending tears to his eyes. He felt as if something was pulling him down, keeping him on this spot. It was too much. Too much noise, too much pain, too much color and light and sound and feeling. Too much.

He couldn't remember when he blacked out, but he remembered at some point someone stood over him. He was wearing a light jacket, the color painful to his darkness-adjusted eyes. He remembered hearing buzzing and the man's eyes were a stunning--

> "Mister Harlan?"
> 
> "...Oh. Yes?"
> 
> "You drifted off. Can you describe the man?"
> 
> A pause.
> 
> "Afraid not. Just that he had a blindingly light jacket on and there was buzzing. I can't remember anything else. Sorry."
> 
> "It's alright, we get reports similar to that a lot. Can you tell us any more?"
> 
> "Nothing more than I woke up in the hospital, covered in bandages. Right arm gone, left leg almost meeting the same fate. You know this already; it's most likely written down in my file somewhere."
> 
> "Yes, but it helps if we get it from the citizens themselves."
> 
> A long pause. More of that soft groaning from the seat as he shifted nervously.
> 
> "Am I.. going to be allowed to remember all this?
> 
> "Sedate him."
> 
> A gasp, soft and barely picked up by the microphone. The chair scraped back and people charged forward, their footsteps heavy against the cold floor. Something hard hit something soft, followed by a sharp grunt. That sound repeated several times.
> 
> Then it stopped when there was a sharp yelp. A body hit the floor and there was a noise sounding similar to the heel of a shoe striking the bridge of a nose.
> 
> "I said sedate him, not knock him out!"
> 
> "Sorry, sir."
> 
> "Ah, it works just as well. Remove this man and put him in the outskirts of the city, preferably in the shade and within reach of some medical and survival supplies."
> 
> Movement, less frantic in their nature. The sound of a body being carefully dragged out of the room.
> 
> "Shall we announce to Cecil that Earl Harlan has returned?"
> 
> "Earl Harlan? What do you mean? The man with us today simply came in, rambled, and passed out."
> 
> "But--"
> 
> "Earl Harlan is gone, do you understand? Cecil will _not_ hear of this."
> 
> "..Yes sir."
> 
> "Good. Now go help the others. We're done here."
> 
> "Yes sir."
> 
> Someone leaves hurriedly, while another approaches. There's an almost staticy scraping sound as the recorder is picked up, fingers pressing down on that one certain button--
> 
>                                      The recorder stops.

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of something I've had on my mind for quite a while. What did Earl go through during that ceremony? What story would he have to tell if he ever came back?  
> 


End file.
